House of Riddles
by KeepCalmFanFicExists
Summary: Everyone knows the Riddle House is haunted, the gruesome evidence of the killings committed by the Beast living in it has been tossed into Little Hangleton hundreds of times. Nevertheless the Trio decides to check out whether the legend is true. And a whisper coming from the paintings of the mansion says Harry is The Chosen One to solve the curse. -Scaretale/Beauty and the Beast!AU


_Written for the Minefield Challenge on the HPFC Forum. The prompt was 'Blank Space' by Taylor Swift and the videoclip was the one that gave me the idea of a scaretale inspired by Beauty and the Beast with a more volatile relationship between the two._

 _Warning: Rated M for gruesome content_

BANG!

"Ahhhh!"

"Hermione?" yelled Harry, " _Hermione!_ "

No answer came. Harry, his heart beating frantically in his chest, raced to the armour next to which Hermione had been searching for clues of Ron, only to find blank space on her spot. Horrible suspicions creeping up into his mind, he fingered the solid wall with the dusty tapestry, looking for a hidden passageway that would lead him to his friend, but there was none. Again, like before, a person had disappeared into thin air after experiencing what sounded like excruciating pain.

Harry tried to swallow the knot of bile and fear that had been stuck in his throat since the very moment the dark secrets of this god-forsaken manor had started to reveal themselves in the most chilling ways; and, from what it seemed, they would eventually cost the lives of both himself and his friends. He continued calling for Hermione again and again, even though he was absolutely sure of the horrible truth: Hermione was gone, dead and silent, finally snatched by the Beast of the mansion, along his own parents, one more soul added to the death toll humanity had to pay for the crimes against nature committed by the landlord over 150 years ago.

"Her-Hermione..."

Harry's voice was beginning to falter as minutes passed, and the grim, abnormal silence of the mansion remained his sole company. If Hermione wasn't coming when Harry was screaming like his life depended on this, then she was simply not able to.

"'Mione..." was all he could mutter, before collapsing on the floor, his back sliding down the filthy wall. He rested his head on his knees, and shielded his eyes from what he knew was about to come. The same had happened to Ron, and he just couldn't bear see what was left of Hermione's mangled body; a kidney, perhaps, or a bloodied hand, or even an eyeball, casually dumped on the dining table or under his pillow. He just couldn't.

Salty tears of bitter regret and guilt stung his eyes and Harry didn't wipe them away. They had been so close, so very damn close to making it out of the mansion alive and ridding the world of its curse. The seven days had been almost up. But not anymore; the dealine had just expired, and so had his last hope on life.

He had led his best and only friends to their deaths after seven days of confinement and horror, and now he was the only one left. He would soon suffer the same punishment as they had, and then he would be dead. At least he didn't have family or anyone to mourn and miss him. But the curse would still be strong, spreading its blood-thirsty tentacles further and further into the countryside of Britain, costing more and more lives of innocent people, until someone worthier than him solved the curse and slaughtered the monster.

Harry let out a sigh and finally managed to open his eyes. He stared aimlessly around the room. For a poor, unfortunate orphan like himself, he supposed this was not the worst environment to die in. Heavy velvet curtains, ornate decor of expensive wood and antiques on the walls would be a nice view to take his mind off the fact that the Beast would be skinning him alive and extracting his brain while he was still conscious.

And then, the soughing of long robes broke the deadly silence of the deserted mansion, and Harry's blood froze in his veins. Was it the monster, who had come to deliver Hermione itself, or some fresh horror brought from hell? His gaze slid from the rusty armour that had been the last place where he had seen Hermione, to the west entrance of the drawing room.

A tall, semi-transparent woman of tremendous beauty was standing there, floating just an in inch above the wooden floor. She had waist-length, shimmering black hair that matched her long robes made of some luxurious fabric knitted together with precious gems. But it was the woman's eyes, heavily-lidded and dark blue on a pale, harmonious face, that were very familiar to Harry. She was the woman in the pictures, the various paintings that hung in almost every room of the mansion and had been torn apart in the Beast's wrath. The only difference was that now she had a deep, clean laceration precisely above her heart. Harry wondered whether, in the end, she had been the Beast all along.

She approached him, floating ethereally, her robes flying around her. A small box of chiseled silver was kept securely in her hands. Harry swallowed bravely, and spoke up: "Make it quick, Bellatrix, okay?"

But the woman didn't seem to take his words into account. She came to a halt right above him, and the expression of grave misery slightly left her face, to be replaced by something similar to.. begging.

"Harry Potter," she spoke in a hoarse voice, as if she hadn't used it in centuries, "we salute you. The Chosen One you are. The world is in your hands. We need your help."

 _A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think._


End file.
